


6PM, Saturday Night

by lipsstainedbloodred



Series: visible world [3]
Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: AU, Domestic Fluff, M/M, canon has no power here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-29
Packaged: 2021-02-28 21:47:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23384008
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lipsstainedbloodred/pseuds/lipsstainedbloodred
Summary: Jon helps Gerry dye his hair.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Gerard Keay/Jonathan Sims
Series: visible world [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1679638
Comments: 12
Kudos: 226





	6PM, Saturday Night

“I need your help with something.”

Jon looks up from the papers piled around him like little mountains, sorted haphazardly and tilting precariously. “With what?” Jon asks with his teeth still gnawing at a pen cap. He looks back down at his work and then up again at Gerry.

Gerry shifts from foot to foot, hands behind his back like a teenager caught at doing something foolish. Finally he brings his hands forward, showing Jon the box of hair dye clutched in his hand. “It’s getting too long to do on my own,” Gerry says, “I’m having a hard time making sure the back is covered.”

Jon lets his pen drop to the table. “Gerry, I have work--”

“It’s only Saturday, Jon. You have til Monday to get those finished.”

“You know, you could just go to a salon.” Jon says, but he’s already standing and reaching for the box.

“This is cheaper.”

“I know. You can tell.”

“Hey--”

“Go get a chair, and a couple of towels. I can’t make any promises about not dying your skin.”

“Thank you.” Gerry kisses the top of Jon’s head, laughing when Jon shoves at him testily. 

  
Gerry sets up in the loo, draping a towel over the back of a kitchen chair and then one over his shoulders while Jon studiously reads the directions on the box. He holds a pair of gloves in his hand, eyes tracking over the directions like getting something wrong would mean life or death. He pulls out the small tubes of color and primer, turning them over in his hands.

“Jon,” Gerry prods, nudging the back of Jon’s calf with his foot, “I promise you can’t do any worse than me.”

“Well that is a relief.” Jon says dryly, but stops stalling and finally pulls the gloves on.

Jon goes at his hair with a comb with more force than necessary, tugging at knots with a scowl. Gerry winces at a particularly rough pass and bites back a hiss. Jon cups the back of his head. “Sorry.”

“It’s fine.” Gerry says through his teeth. 

Jon hums and sets back to splitting Gerry’s hair into sections, clicking his tongue at the messy sections in the back. “What did you do here?” He asks, running his fingers through it. “Do you even bother sectioning your hair at all?”

“Not usually.”

“Ugh.” Jon goes in with the primer with the same single minded focus he usually uses to approach research papers and essay grading. 

“Remember the first time we did this?” Gerry asks, watching Jon move around him in the mirror.

“I remember getting dye all over the bathroom sink.” Jon scoffs, picking up the colorant off the sink.

“Your grandmother was so pissed.”

“Yes, well, we did stain the porcelain.”

“And the wall,” Gerry adds, “And the rug.”

“The curtain,” Jon says, his lips finally tugging up into a grin, “She was furious about the shower curtain.”

“You promised you’d let me do yours next time. We never did get around to that.”

“Yes, well, seeing the mess you make of your own hair makes me less than hopeful about what you might do to mine.”

“Ouch.” 

Jon tilts Gerry’s head down, working on the back, still making small noises of disapproval at the patchwork quality of Gerry’s last dye job. 

There’s a small click and thud as the front door opens and closes, Martin’s voice calling out. “Hello?’

“Back here.” Jon calls.

The floor of the hall creaks a few moments later, Martin resting his weight against the doorframe. “Well now, what’s this then?”

Jon holds up the bottle of hair dye and makes a kind of vague gesture.

“He’s doing a good job.” Gerry says.

“You don’t know that,” Jon says, rubbing at his scalp, “You can’t see back here. I could be missing spots on purpose.”

“You know you could actually pay a professional to do this for you,” Martin says, the smile on his face both amused and fond.

“For what?” Gerry asks, “I can ask Jon to do it for free.” He hisses out a sharp breath at the tug Jon gives in response.

“Right.” Martin says, “How much longer are you going to be? I’ll order take away.”

Jon shrugs, “Maybe a half hour to finish this part, another half hour to let it set?” 

“Perfect, any suggestions?”

“Thai?” Gerry asks, “That little place around the corner?”

“Sure.” 

Martin steps inside the small room to kiss Jon’s cheek and then Gerry’s, neatly avoiding getting dye on his work shirt. He walks away humming and Gerry smiles. When he glances into the mirror Jon has got that same besotted look plastered on his own face.

  
It takes more than an hour, as it turns out. Gerry’s hair is thick and unruly, and by the time Jon’s done getting the dye put in their food has already arrived. Jon lets him eat in the kitchen, a towel still draped over his shoulders, with a look that promises nasty things if Gerry gets any dye on the floor or table. He manages, though he can’t help himself from pretending to threaten to lean against the wall on their way back to the sink so Jon can help him wash his hair. 

For all his pushy hands and griping, Jon is remarkably gentle as he washes the dye out, his fingers scrubbing and scrubbing at Gerry’s scalp in soothing circles until the water finally runs clean.

“There,” Jon says, rubbing Gerry’s hair dry with a towel, “done.”

And it looks… well, not good, but better. About as good as a box dye job can get, really. Gerry grins and tugs Jon down into a kiss. “It’s perfect, thank you.” 

Jon huffs, flushing. “I wouldn’t say _perfect_ , but I suppose it’ll do.” 

“It’ll do.” Gerry mocks, kissing the corner of Jon’s mouth.

“Are you two done?” Martin asks, “I do still need to shower, you know.”

“We’re not stopping you.” Gerry says, and grins wider at the flush that blooms on Martin’s cheeks. 

Jon makes a noise, somewhere between embarrassment and disapproval, and wraps his hand around Gerry’s wrist. “Come on, up you get.”

They end up on the couch, the opening menu for The Princess Bride looping while the sound of water from the shower drones in the background. Jon’s got his papers on the coffee table, corner of his pen in his mouth as his eyes track over the words and he makes small noises at errors that will need correcting. He valiantly tries to ignore Gerry’s feet nudging up under his thigh and Gerry smiles.   
  
He closes his eyes, letting his head fall back against the arm, waiting for Martin to join them and supposes there are worse ways to spend a Saturday night.


End file.
